


Not Mine

by masked_simplicity



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bittersweet Ending, Cross-Party Relationship, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Hand Jobs, M/M, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked_simplicity/pseuds/masked_simplicity
Summary: SOULMATES AU - The Sniper had been nothing but a menace to BLU for longer than the company could handle, and finally sick of having him foil most of their plans, Caiden, the BLU Scout, was sent to end him once and for all. Naturally, Caiden had no issues with putting a bullet through his chest... or so he thought.





	Not Mine

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I forgot to write about the details of the soulmates concept. Basically, they will never feel the urge to harm one another — usually out of a 'I just don't feel like it' thought, but if they are forced to, their bodies will never move to do it. The first long eye contact results in a sense of completion between the two of them, and any separation between them afterwards will have them feeling very upset. Any first sexual encounter between the two of them will result in them knowing the complete past of their significant other, and exactly how they feel before it.

_ Kill the Sniper,  _ they had told him. End him. Finish him off for all the troubles he had caused, they commanded. He had been nothing but a menace, having foiled BLU’s plans a thousand times now with his easy picks of key mercenaries. They could've done preparations for hours, days, weeks, months, even a year, and the RED Sniper could've ruined it all with one simple shot. Him taking down their fifth Heavy sent to break the walls had been their last straw; and BLU had decided they were tired of his meddlesome ways. So much so that his death was the price he had to pay for their forgiveness. 

Caiden was the first target sent to solve this predicament. Naturally, he was annoyed by the idea:  _ Why not Snipes? Why not Spy?  _ Everyone had their go-to job whenever an issue arises — Medic healed the injured, Demoman laid traps for the enemies, Heavy just fired away, and Scout bashed the heads of anyone he could find… in the  _ frontlines,  _ that was. The Sniper was a backliner, just as any other Sniper was; hence, out of his league. It was not his problem if his teammates were getting disposed by a backliner, so why come crawling to him to overcome the issue? 

No one listened, of course, (something along the lines of  _ ‘Sniper is being heavily pursued by the RED Spy’  _ and  _ ‘Spy has to handle the sentries’  _ and whatnot) which was exactly how Caiden ended up forced into a manhunt instead of gunning down irritating Demomen holding back RED backup by choking up pathways with their stickies. Protesting was easily worthless whenever it came to bargaining with the Medic, which Caiden honestly should've expected — especially since the main victim of the RED Sniper had been Heavies in particular. 

And so to do his job, Caiden went sneaking up to the regular spot where figured was the camping grounds for any Sniper alike. This Sniper was, from what Spy had informed him, a tad bit different than the other ones — a cunning mercenary that had a brave tendency of finding his way into BLU coverage, readied at an unexpected distance from RED, laying down his sights on the target, and coming to a run the second the deed was done. What Spy failed to tell him about, however, were specific places where the marksman dedicated his time in hiding at. Probably because Spy often busied himself with other matters to notice.

No matter. Caiden did not need to be told. He already spotted the Sniper nesting in that old water tower more times than he could count. With luck (and a slight bit of gullibility from the RED Sniper’s side), the Scout already knew how to find him; the task would continue on easily afterwards.

...Or at least, he  _ thought  _ it would be easy.

He found the marksman in seconds (an achievement he would be glad to flaunt to the blind codger he knew was the BLU Spy). Unsurprisingly, the man had been too busy with his sights on the battlefield to notice the Bostonian creeping behind his back. The fight was fairly easy; and in no time at all, Caiden had the Sniper at his mercy and ready to die — maybe finally then, he could get back to the job he actually wanted to do instead of tackling weak ones that had no means of fighting back after being apprehended.

Even the Sniper knew, from that moment alone, that the fight had been lost. It was the end of the line. Yet his gaze did not waver.  _ “Well, go on. I’m bloody waiting.” _

Oh, how tempted Caiden was to test how brave the sniping coward could get. A wicked sneer creased his lips as he closened up, bat in one hand, shotgun in the other — he would make him beg, all right. He would make him plead for mercy.

That was when it happened, just as he raised an arm to start swinging. For just that one beat of a second, starting from when their eyes met. 

It began with a short spark; not as a sort of beguilement, nor hypnotism — just a small flicker to catch his attention. A flare meant to befuddle, enticing him to take a look; a curiousity he dared himself to appease. Unable to help himself, Caiden looked closer. His movements were tentative, still wary and suspecting the marksman to make a move. Nevertheless, Caiden had himself look. After all, what more could the Sniper do given his incapacitated state? 

Then he stared longer. Longer, deeply, genuinely. And far too late did he take to realize that the world stopped around them. There was no distant rapid fire, devastating explosions; no loud battle cries, no passionate insults and name-calling. The thought came unfathomable for the Scout to realize, but all too much he was helpless from looking into the Sniper's eyes. 

It was a feeling he did not recognise. It was radiant, spreading from his chest to the rest of him like wildfire. It felt nothing like joy, ire, or misery — the most prominent of emotions he was used to feeling, with a few little ones that rarely dropped by once in a while, but would never stray too far from the three he mentioned. It drove his heart to fire, as if set alight, but his head calm and serene — like flowing through water without the fear of drowning. Any confusing new changes were meant to drive him mad, yet… he felt as if he never knew completion prior to this moment. 

And in just seconds, he craved oh so much for this sensation. Again and again, as if he could not bear to live without it. Without whatever that had caused it. Without… 

Breaking away from the gaze was the most difficult task that had to be done. From that point, Caiden couldn't bring himself to carry on, fear and confusion pursuing through stronger than that new sense of bliss, just enough for him to pull away. The backlash – the sudden withdrawal from the bond — was almost too much to bear; sending him a sickening sensation from the stomach as he managed a last look at the Sniper before forcing himself to run. His legs carried him faster than he had ever ran. His lungs, though used to his constant sprints through many distances, was pumping hard through his chest, desperate to give him air. 

_ What the hell just happened?  _

His teammates were full of questions when he reached BLU HQ. He didn’t bother answering, nor listening to either one of them — their voices like a sound travelling through water in his ears. He shoved his way past them all, and did not stop walking until he reached his quarters. Even as they started mocking him for his apparent arrogance, his demeanor ever unchanging.

He thought of nothing but the Sniper until he slept. 

The next few days was nothing but torturous. 

Caiden wanted nothing more than to forget about the Sniper afterwards. Whatever sensation he felt; that dying urge to witness it again; that dying urge to see  _ him  _ without intending harm; the annoying thought that he wanted to be somewhere near  _ him  _ again — he wanted to forget it all. He would do any activities that he loved so much, like baseball, trying to flirt with ladies on the street, stealing Spy’s cigars, et cetera — at this point, just about anything that could fully steal his attention. It usually worked, and those disturbances would disappear within the second he threw his mind elsewhere. 

But not this time. He would swing his bat as much as he could, not caring if he hit the ball or not. He would try to speak to the girls lingering just at the town a few miles away from BLU HQ (failing to get their attention, of course). He had robbed Spy of as many cigars as he could pocket (the Frenchman did not care much — he simply clicked his tongue in irritation and bought a new one). But the thoughts never left; and his actions were all done half-heartedly as a result. It did not help at all that the Medic returned to him every single day asking if he had eliminated the Sniper for good. He could only turn away, tell the doctor to screw off, ignorant, but on the inside, he just didn’t want him to find out. 

For all he knew, his refusal to kill the RED Sniper could easily be seen as pity over executing the enemy, which could be read as clemency. And every mercenary, regardless if BLU or RED, knew that betrayal would not be tolerated — even if it were something as simple as having a social agreement. That was what happened to the last RED Demoman, after he had grown an attachment to the BLU Soldier. Both of them were executed during the first light of day, as soon as the Administrator had discovered their budding relationship.

Deciding that his allies were stupid, yes, but certainly not oblivious, Caiden brushed off those witless emotions and, once again, forced himself to continue his relentless pursuit for that RED Sniper. Whatever that happened last time wouldn’t happen again. Besides, Caiden didn’t want to die. He wasn’t going down just because he felt something funny being around that damned marksman.

Or so he thought.

He headed there again; that old abandoned mill about a hundred yards away from the battlefield. It would be ridiculous if the Sniper were still lingering around after being found, but Caiden had no other leads on the Sniper’s camping grounds anyway, and this was the only place he knew. If he couldn't find him then oh well, he'd try another day. 

… Or that was what he convinced himself to think. Caiden did not know it himself, but the reason why he hoped he wouldn't find his target again was because if they were to come face to face once more, he knew he had to kill him, or else he'd end up as every traitor did — dead. And as strange as it sounded; as nonsensical as it was, he was certain that there was one thing he did not want to do. 

He did not want to kill the Sniper. 

But his hopes were dashed quicker than a flash of light —  torn apart from the instant he entered that old mill, silently wishing the marksman was nowhere to be found so he could just turn around and leave, only to spot the familiar figure standing right on the other side. His heart shrank bitterly in his chest. 

Strangely enough, however, the Sniper was not standing by the windows with his scope down as he was last time. Instead, he was facing the entrance, just watching. As if waiting for someone to arrive. 

“Pleasure seeing you again, chap,” he said. 

There. Those abnormal sensations again came to life. The tranquility. The burst of complex, confusing, yet serene emotions. They provided a sense of bliss Caiden couldn't bear to be away from… which was a sense of bliss only the RED Sniper could provide. 

He played ignorant at first, and began their usual encounters with a myriad of insults. A common game they loved to play, especially among BLU against RED alike. It went on and on… until the Sniper eventually decided that this was going nowhere and did not wish to waste his time any further. He turned, heading for the door. 

But stopped as soon as Caiden grabbed onto his arm. 

Caiden himself did not expect himself to do it, but his movements were controlled, his actions without thought. His head was a daze when he spoke, not even realizing that he had said it before hearing it for himself. 

“Don't leave.”

And the Sniper stared, eyes widened. But he did as he asked. Instead, he approached him closer. 

Everything that followed went on in a blur afterwards. Caiden wasn't even thinking straight when the Sniper held him in his arms. There were no questions asked when he brought their lips to meet. That serene feeling lit up like a fire in its wake, and much to Caiden’s surprise, the Sniper willingly reciprocated. 

It started gentle at first, like a simple experiment. Neither of their lips moved, both lost in thought as they allowed themselves to sink into the moment — to know that this really was happening between the both of them. The distant gunfire fell silent, and once again, like the first time they met, it was just the two of them. 

Caiden’s eyes fluttered shut. This wasn't allowed. None of it was. But like hell did he care. After all, this would stay between them. Whatever happened would be their little secret. 

Familiarity blossomed, and alas, the Sniper deepened their kiss. And Caiden could only willingly comply. He returned the kiss, letting himself drown in his breath, his taste, his pleasured sighs. Every nerve inside him had set alight, his heart beating so hard, craving to explode out of his chest. “Snipes…” he whispered against his lips. It was unexpected, unintended, but Caiden didn't care. He wanted nothing more than to remain that way — to just lose himself in the Sniper's touch. 

Their lips didn't leave once as the other man led him on, moved him backwards until Caiden felt his back hit that dusty walls of the old mill. He parted them, their tongues brought to meet. They moaned in unison as they wrestled, desperate to explore, to seek that warmth. The Sniper pressed forward, their hips brought to meet, adventurous and risk-taking. They rocked their hips together, Caiden’s arms wrapped around the other's neck, seeking that heat. He whimpered, he groaned, but he wanted more. Oh so much more. 

An arm snaked around his waist, teasing with featherlight touches, his gentle hands. He drew Caiden closer, his body flushed against his. They broke the kiss, panting as their eyes were brought to meet — the marksman’s hooded, pupils dilated and hazed with lust. Neither one spoke a word as they grabbed the moment to catch their breaths. His hands remained firm around the other man's neck, resting in that warmth. He could feel his heartbeat thudding through his chest, beating against his own. 

The Sniper continued, shifted his position lower, lips grazing against the skin of his shoulder. His tongue pressed wetly against the heat, slid from the end of his shoulder blade to his earlobe. The hot air wafted into his ear, bringing him to shudder.  It was teasing, tempting, driving him mad. The Scout gave no form of sensical words, sentences falling bare into waste. The wings of a butterfly fluttered weak within his stomach, so much so he nearly felt sick from the movements. 

The Sniper’s lips were dry against his skin, a slight bit irritable for his liking, but nevertheless, Caiden was far too immersed to care. Caiden had little intimate moments shared with women — he had kissed them; let them kiss him; spent about ten minutes at most, caught in a moment of heat seeking their lips; caressed their tender breasts; even been allowed to stroke their gentle folds lightly once when they were both tipsy, and witnessed the pleasurable moments of hearing their moans. That was the furthest he had ever went, but what more with men? Prior to the incident a few days back, he felt no attraction whatsoever to men alike. Men were men as he was. To have them akin to how he held women was a thought worthy of laughing about. 

Yet here he was, locked in a moment, heated and passionate with a man, but there was no laughter from him. Close to begging,  _ pleading  _ that the Sniper would give him more. That he was dying for his touch, and had been dying for it the past few days. 

Sniper wasted no time in working on his neck, tongue dragged across his collarbone to the nape of his shoulder before settling to a comfortable spot just by where his ear met his jaw. He nibbled, gentle and ticklish at first, awaiting the Scout's friendly responses, his welcoming motion. Once he had relaxed, the younger man more at ease with his touch, did Sniper become more daring. He locked his lips, licking and biting and sucking at the spot he knew drew those quiet moans — he wanted to mark him his. The idea of surrendering, though often a thought he never considered in his line of work, suddenly seemed like so wonderful an idea for Caiden to follow. His body shuddered from the wetness, but he leaned forward, seeking that warmth. 

The marksman allowed some space between them, craving more contact between bare skin, ran his hands underneath Caiden’s shirt. They travelled through his body, finding and seeking. His thumb brushed past his nipple, gentle, drawing the Scout to squirm from his touch. Caiden’s grip on the Sniper's shoulders tightened. A breath followed short, bringing him to shiver as it wafted against his heated skin. It drove him mad, having him aching for his touch, an tease to his insatiable thirst, A tiny whimper escaped his lips — he couldn't wait. He didn't want to. He wanted that warmth. He wanted his body against his own, rutting against him. He craved for that contact. 

Overhearing despite its faintness, Sniper couldn't help but let out that breathless chuckle. His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, his head lowering from Sniper's amusement. He almost pulled back, clearing a small space between them as a means of regaining some dominance, and to snap at the Sniper to shut up. Quickly enough, however, Caiden’s efforts were fruitless — the marksman took that chance gently, teasingly set his knee between his legs. He cried out, blinded by the pleasure, but the marksman pulled back. Another chuckle from his lips. Caiden wanted to kill him. 

The Sniper’s hand trailed lower. His fingers dipped underneath the band of his pants. “Off,” he murmured. The both of them broke off from the kiss, and Caiden obediently followed his command. His hands were shaking as he fumbled for his belt, quivered as he attentively listened to Sniper undoing his own. The buckle felt like hell to loosen, his hands suddenly a menace to come off as the sound of metal hitting the ground came to his ear — and he noticed the Sniper was bare below his waist. 

“Let me,” he whispered. The nervousness in Caiden spiralled deep within, frozen as the fabric dropped to his knees. A cold air blew between his legs, evident that he, too, was now bare for the Sniper to see. That very same Sniper he was meant to kill. That very same Sniper that would cause him death if anyone from his team were to find out about what was about to unfold. 

The other man took a step back for a moment. His eyes fixed onto him, his gaze long and holding as he trailed them from up to down, drinking in everything he could see of the Scout. Caiden’s cheeks flushed as he felt that powerful state bearing onto him. Meek, he looked away from the marksman. He tried to conceal his nudity away, his hands sheepishly attempting to cover up what he wasn't used to showing off. “Quit starin’ like that.”

Sniper shook his head. His hand reached out for his cheek, gentle in his touch as the other one brushed his own away from hiding himself. It rested against his skin. His palm was rough, as were his fingers. It was cold, standing out a lot from the day’s burning heat. Caiden couldn’t help but lean into the coolness, the gesture simple and probably nothing for many but it relaxed him. It was unexplainable, but Caiden could feel his compassion like a light from a beacon. 

He finally looked back and brought their eyes to meet. That same spark again, like the first time they met – that powerful jolt; that serenity. All at once, he trusted the Sniper. A warm feeling bloomed within his heart as the marksman, his gaze alight and bold in his expression, grasped him tighter, his voice more confident as he spoke: “Please don't run away from me.”

His heart pounded through his ears as Caiden nodded. 

Now having Caiden’s approval to go on, the Sniper’s hand trailed across his thigh. Though unintentional, they felt teasing, taunting. Dreadfully slow. He came close to snapping at him to hurry up, but his lips remained shut from his resisted whimpers. He tried his best not to appear too impatient and just how badly he wanted this. 

A moan escaped his lips when those hands, alas, pressed against his heated skin. “F-Fuck…” It twitched, the coldness of the marksman’s fingers like ice to his throbbing erection. The Sniper kept his eyes on him, watching his every response — his every move, and learning where to continue. The small noises that escaped his lips left noticed by him — every single one. Knowing exactly what it was that he wanted, he wrapped his fingers around the length. He began pumping slowly, eyes still fixed on him as Caiden cried out in pleasure. 

The Sniper panted from the sight; the views of him coming undone. His other hand moved, His breath wafted against his own, blatant in showing that the other man was as equally pleasured by this as he was. “Could you…” he murmured, nearly unheard through the bliss, “do the same for me?” 

Caiden didn't even have to think twice before nodding. He fumbled, brushing aside the hand before reaching out for the marksman’s erection himself. They quivered like the air was as cold as ice — out of excitement, nervousness, a steady burst of adrenaline, maybe even all at once. But steadily, he followed Sniper's rhythm. Up when he did, down when he did, exactly as he did. Slow. Languid. Through his hazy vision, he saw the other man beginning to weaken as well — drawing quick breaths, tiny grunts of pleasure. His hand rested gripped harder onto Sniper's shoulder. The Sniper rested his behind Caiden’s neck and drew their foreheads to touch. 

They quickened. Their hands hastened in their movement. The roughness of the Sniper’s against his cock granted more friction, bringing in more pleasure than Caiden had ever felt. His thumb teased at the ridges of the head, rubbing at the tip. Precome oozed from the slit of his arousal, and the Sniper slathered his hand across it. His moistened hands coated itself from finger to palm before continuing the pumping. The fluid granted a smoother flow. His erection pulsed against his grip, the strength of it reminding him again and again that he was under the marksman’s mercy. He went faster and faster. “Fuck,  _ Snipes _ ,” he moaned, losing himself blind as he fell a victim to his own delectation. 

His own hand struggled to keep up, but he persisted. They were at a weaker pace compared to the Sniper's, but he attempted different techniques — a few he learned on the many times he did so to himself. He moved his hand lower, closer to the stalk of his erection. There, he reached for his testicles. He massaged them, awaited the marksman’s response. He heard his breathing quicken, and through those lips an eventual moan; a quiet sigh. Those fingers gripped tighter at the back of his neck, and it hurt where his nails dug into his flesh. But Caiden didn't care. Instead, his hands sped up, alternating between his erection and his balls. Pretty soon, the Sniper was just as undone — moving his hips closer and seeking more of that friction. The sight entertained him — how his eyes fluttered shut, those sudden shivers, his ragged moans. He couldn't help but give off a cheeky smile, knowing that it was him responsible of the Sniper's satisfaction. 

“Kid,” the other man groaned. “You…” But his sentence never finished, his voice falling more and more inaudible as Caiden hastened his motions. Words were of no meaning at this point, fallible and nonsensical because what the both of them could focus on were only that rising pleasure, the heat of their bodies together in that old mill, reaching that final point with every step of the way. 

He couldn't hang on anymore. With one more thrust of the Sniper's hand, he felt his nerves flooded with his desire, travelling through him, his body, his chest, his head and—

The world vanished around him. All of a sudden, Caiden thought he was falling — through the air and down to the ground. There was nothing but light, nor was his head in thought as he watched it dissipate. His mind was blank. He blinked, staring. When the light finally faded, however, it was a sight Caiden did not expect.

It was a young baby, caught inside the ruins of what looked to be a rocket. He was at a distance away from the view, but their loud cries rang in his ears like he was right by their side. Caiden stared, confused. He looked around him, over to the side of the rocket, its front and back, and its surroundings, but there was no one there save for the infant. His heart sank, the pity weighed heavy like an anchor in his chest but he could not move.  _ Was the baby abandoned? Who would save the poor thing?  _

His vision began to sink, the image beginning to blur but not before spotting a young couple rushing to the baby’s side. The lady reached out for the child, the man peering over her shoulder for a better look. The last thing Caiden heard before the scene ended was those little gurgles of happiness from the baby’s lips, and the young couple touched by who was soon to be their new son. 

The next was a little boy watching his father tilling the soil of the farm, both under the growing heat of that summer day. He was learning how to be a farmer boy, Caiden somehow knew, and his mother joined his side with two glasses of water in her hands. The scene shifted just as the boy got up on his feet and smiled her way. 

Again. A teenager this time — around the age of fifteen and clad in a uniform. His face and arms were bruised. He was behind a few bushes over at the corner of the school; difficult to spot, but certainly not invisible. The other students were far from where he was, carrying on their every school life and paid no heed to the young boy over at the distance. Those who did, however, only snickered at the sight —  _ “Weak bugger, that one. Scrawny lil’ weasel. He's not like the rest of us.” _ His heart weighed down in his chest — raw and bare like it was bleeding. Caiden was nowhere close to the boy, but even from afar, he listened to those pitiful sobs. He knew how that felt. It was exactly what his brothers did to him. He knew what it was like to be the only one alienated from everyone else. 

The next jump was back at their farm, the teenager now a young man about a few years behind himself. His mother, in tears, was gripping onto his sleeves as he tried to head outside. He was still clad in a uniform, but a different one this time — one Caiden recognised too well, for his oldest brother had served the military as a lieutenant for many years now. The door stood ajar right in front of him, but he did not want to leave. But this time, he had no choice. In fact there never was one to begin with. 

He was in a battlefield before he knew it. The background and surroundings were much alike to the ones he knew from working for BLU, but the atmosphere far from the likes of it. The atmosphere he knew was always a fiery blaze of trigger happy havoc — a group of delirious lunatics more than excited to hold a gun in their hands and go prancing around with their finger locked opening fire. This was nothing like that. Instead, there was only silence. Bodies laid scattered across the ground, which was not an unfamiliar sight to Caiden, but it was the sight of the living that brought him to fear — they were not excited, delirious, nor grieving and miserable as he would expect. Instead, their eyes were dead. Lifeless, and the bodies of their fallen allies drew not even the slightest bit of remorse. 

And among the sea of the living dead, there hid the young man he recalled leaving the farm. His arm held a rifle, his body sprawled to the ground and his attention on the scope. He had concealed himself within bushes, just as he did at school with those bushes over at school. Only this time, he shed not even a tear to cry. This time, a fire of strength burned in his eyes, the only thought it his mind: _ I won't die here. Not here.  _

His finger squeezed at the trigger, and the gun fired into the distance. 

Another shift in time, and the man was now a face he recognized all too well. He was resting at a bar, looking over to the entrance as if expecting someone to meet him. Sure enough, there came a woman, dressed in a purple blouse and dark skirt; a pair of glasses resting on her nose. There were documents in her hand as she approached him. He sat up straight and she nodded. They shook hands, as if reaching an agreement.  _ “It's nice to meet you, our new Sniper.” _

The scene altered, and this time, Caiden did not have to think hard to know where he was. It was RED headquarters, over by a watchtower at the east gates. Sniper sat there dutifully, keeping a lookout for anyone that dared come too close without an escort — particularly any BLU scoundrels that thought they had a right to stop near their territory. A small figure popped up from the distance and immediately, Sniper aimed down his sights for a better look. Much to Caiden’s surprise, it was himself — attempting to show his teammates that he had the guts to step within an uncomfortable range of RED grounds. The marksman mumbled a few words, cursing at the boy for being a fool. His finger enclosed the trigger but… no matter how long he waited, the Sniper could not bring himself to shoot. He paused in his tracks, confused, but otherwise did not bring himself to kill the Scout. Instead, he set his rifle aside and pretended he could not see him. 

One last shift; the final one — and this time, Caiden remembered it far too well. It was their first face-to-face encounter at the mill, where he had held the Sniper at gunpoint and told him he was going to kill him. He watched it all unfold from the sides; how he snuck up on the man, brought up his attention, knocked his rifle far from his reach before he had the chance and in one swift movement, held the barrel of his signature shotgun out right at the Sniper's face for him to see. Naturally, the marksman felt nothing but fear in anticipation of the shot that would end his life, but nevertheless he steeled himself. He wouldn't go down a coward.  _ “Well, go on. I'm bloody waiting.” _

Yet the Scout never fired. Initially Sniper thought that perhaps the boy was just playing around with him and fooling him into thinking he would be merciful. But then he waited, and waited, and waited. And the waiting became annoyingly long enough to pique his curiousity. 

That was when their eyes met. And there the exact same feeling Caiden felt when it did came to light: a sensation of neither joy, anger nor misery. But instead, peacefulness, calmness. It was as if he needed to not care for anything else in the world, because he found everything he needed right in front of him. Like every solution rested here, if he just stayed by his side. All that fear he felt; the sorrow, the anguish… For once, he could throw it all away. 

And it all came from looking into the Scout's eyes. 

His mind alas set itself back to the present, the pair having already reached their climax and were panting against one another. The Sniper had rested his head onto his shoulder, and Caiden wrapped his arms around him, drawing him close. The both of them sank to the ground, exhausted. His head was a dizzying mess, still attempting to process everything he saw just a few moments ago. Whether the other man knew of his adventure as they reached their orgasm, he wasn't sure. But regardless, Caiden knew one thing: that the Sniper — no,  _ Mick —  _ was certainly much more than he initially thought he was. 

Neither one spoke, catching their breaths. The mill was silent throughout, and even the gunfire from earlier was nowhere to be heard. A ceasefire, no doubt, which was good. They would be undisturbed. No one would find them and foil their moment. Caiden wanted to spend his moments with him. Just for a little while… 

Once he had regained control of himself, Mick began to speak. “You are really something, Caiden,” he chuckled breathlessly, planting a kiss to his forehead before cuddling up. Caiden embraced him, but did not ask how he knew his name. Perhaps, he considered, somehow, Mick went through the same adventure as he did, only through his life instead of his own. If so, he needn't any further explanations. 

He held him tighter, trying to achieve that warmth as much as he could. “You too, you kangaroo-hoppin’ bozo,” Caiden returned, laughing along. 

Soon, their eyelids heavy and exhaustion beginning to consume, their bodies tangled up in a messy heap and the smell of sex thick in the air, the pair fell asleep. 

* * *

“Where were you?” Spy asked when Caiden finally made it back to BLU headquarters. A shockingly large amount of ash laid astray around where he stood, and Caiden wondered exactly how long the man had been waiting where he stood.

His thoughts rushed back to the scene at the old mill. Both Mick and him had chosen to part ways, seeing as them getting caught was the last thing either of them wanted. The kiss they shared was long, passionate — but heartbreaking at the same time. They did not speak of it, but they both knew that the next time they met, whenever that was, may not guarantee an equally happy outcome. They were, after all, as the rest of the teammates had always put it, rivals, and such a relationship between them could never be. 

But there was one thing they both knew for sure —  that they knew neither one of them would ever forget this moment. How their meeting at the old mill would be just between the both of them. The love they shared in their time together. That this would stay in their hearts, whether they were apart or together. 

Even if the next time they met would end in either one of their deaths. Caiden knew that, regardless, every single second, he would always have the Sniper on his mind. 

He walked past the Spy, not even bothering to look his way as he made it back to his quarters. He didn't want to see anyone that evening. 

“It's none of your business.”

**Author's Note:**

> A Secret Santa gift for my buddy. Merry Christmas, y'all! (though I'm late by almost two weeks now)


End file.
